You will not be able to stay home, brother.
You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out.
You will not be able to lose yourself on Spotify and Facebook,
Skip out for Red Bull during commercials,
Because the revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you by Apple
In 4 parts without commercial interruptions.
The revolution will not show you pictures of Obama
blowing a sax and leading a charge by Hank Paulson, Lloyd Blankfein and Ben Bernanke to make you pay for their fuck up.
The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be brought to you by iTunes and will not star Scarlett Johansson and Jessica Biel or SpongeBob or SquarePants .
The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal.
The revolution will not get rid of the nubs.
The revolution will not make you look five pounds
thinner, because the revolution will not be televised, Brother.

There will be no pictures of you and Rodney King
Being beaten to a pulp on the highway,
or trying to buy shit you don’t need to impress people you don’t like with money you don’t have.
Fox News will not be able predict the winner at 8:32
or report from 29 districts.
The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no pictures of pigs pepper spraying Wall Street Occupyers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of pigs pepper spraying Wall Street Occupyers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of innocent citizens being
run out of Guantanamo Bay on a rail with a brand new process.
There will be no slow motion or still life of Naomi Klein reading from ‘The Shock Doctrine’ in Zuccotti Park.

True Blood, Breaking Bad, and Dexter will no longer be so damned relevant, and
women will not care if Ross finally gets down with
Rachel on Friends because the 99 percent
will be in the street looking for a brighter day.
The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no highlights on the eleven o’clock
news and no pictures of hairy armed women
and Carla Bruni blowing her nose.
The theme song will not be written by Elton John,
Tom York, nor sung by Lady Gaga, Rhianna, Britney Spears, Amy Winehouse, or U fucking 2.
The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be right back after a message
about Iraqi democracy, Afghan women, or Russian elections.
You will not have to worry about a nuclear power plant in your
backyard, a run on your bank, or the giant in your toilet bowl.
The revolution will not go better with Pepsi.
The revolution will not fight the germs that may cause bad breath.
The revolution will put you in the driver’s seat.

The revolution will not be televised, will not be televised,
will not be televised, will not be televised.
The revolution will be no re-run brothers;
The revolution will be live.

I know, I know. I promised you a top ten of albums I discovered in 2010. Well, the best album of 2010 was Jamie Lidells Compass, with instant classics as ‘Your sweet boom‘, ‘Gipsy blood’ and ‘Coma Cameleon‘. But since all that is very last year, lets not spend money on old rope. Well, actually lets. Best discovery during these Christmas holidays was Thomas Feiners exquisite The Opiates. Let this be the first of a regular stream of album reviews.

The Opiates by Anywhen was first released in 2001. It started as a band effort, but during the recording process, the band fell apart. Thomas Feiner finished it, giving it the richly produced sound that we will try and sell to you in the minutes to come. Strangely, the album wasn’t picked up by the public. Until one David Sylvian lay his hands on it and re-released the album on his Samadhisound label.

The album opens with a comforting canapé of strings, dragging you into what is an absolute gem of a love song: The Siren Songs. What if love is the greatest damn liar of all, would you trust me with your life?

This is classical pop. This is a love song, so dark, so sad, so intoxicating, so bewildering, so enwrapping, so disarming. This is Scott Walker, this is David Sylvian who grew some hair on his balls. I want to drown in her precious arms, I want to listen to the siren songs.

The whole album is drenched in classical orchestration, although this ship is just the vehicle for the absolute star: Feiners voice. Be it the haunting crooning on Dinah and the beautiful blue – originaly released in a far more rockier version on Anywhens sophomore album, or the gentle pleading on Scars and glasses, where the orchestra takes five and yields the spotlight to piano and guitar.

Postcard is Portishead as Portishead should sound, the pizzicato crepuscule only hunted away by the woodwinds halfway the song. All this tripedy hopedy clinky clanky magic opens up to a choir and a distorted guitar battling it out with a muted trumpet and the Warsaw Radio Symphony Orchestra at full strenght. The winding paths of this musical Oz will blow the wind right out of your lungs and I must confess it’s been a while since I’ve been left so bemused by a song. Just a postcard from ground level and below.

Next up Yonderhead slows things right down and hypnotizes you with an intro carpeted with piano, strings and woodwinds. Until Feiner deep baritone breaks the enchantment. Pick me up, animate me. Hook me up, and ignite me.

Mesmerene is a jumpy, nervy demonic incantation, vaguely reminiscent of Crime and the city solutions The Adversary. If I could do more than hold you, If I could do more than watch your tears. I wish we could name this place: ‘Oblivion’ and then be on our way.

Toy starts of with another neo-classical intro, with hobo and clarinet taking the spotlight, while For Now, a Feiner solo effort included on this re-issue, is a piano lament on par with Jacques Brels ‘Voir un ami pleurer’. The album closes with All that numbs you, a quintessential Feiner flagship, hovering above the common ground where Scott Walker, Nick Cave, classical music and jazz meet. I cannot praise this album enough. Get it!

A concept album about stoicism by a German one man band. Okay, get your arse back here. There’s nothing to be scared about. Au contraire, mon cher Watson. I’m even making this the second participant in my randomly chosen top ten albums of 2010. Before any of you German-concept-album-liking freaks (we know where you live) point out that the album was released in Prussia at the end of 2009: I KNOW! But since this blog is all about ME, these are albums I discovered in 2010, so shut up.

The voice behind Get well soon is Konstantin Gropper. His timbre has been compared to that of Tom Yorke. I couldn’t tell you, because every time Tom Yorkes voice echoes through the confines of my apartment, it’s being overpowered by the rolling thunder of my barfing. Gropper first caught our attention with his cover of Born Slippy. Konstantin didn’t put as much effort into his songtitles this time as he did on his previous album. What to think of the brilliant(ly named) Witches! Witches! Rest Now In The Fire, a song that would have sounded perfect on Hooverphonic’s Jacky Cane (you remember, those times long gone when we used to care what Alex Callier had come up with).

This second installment does continue in the same feel though. Seneca’s silence starts of with marimbas, before a Teutonian hord of Walkyres casts out the mariachi band. I’ll bring the poison, will you bring the knife? Very Sufjan Stevens if you ask me.

And then there’s A voice in the Louvre. An orchestral production that makes you wish Rufus Wainwright would brokebackmountain this German, so he can finally deliver that magnum opus we’ve all been yearning for. Not the happiest of tunes, lamenting: Deep in the swarm, hold on, mother, to these shaky hands. In open water, save me, father, from the rising flood. But what about that sweeping chorus, urged forward by a battalion of violins, marching to the sound of the Glöckenspiel, culminating in a grand outro you wished would never end. If only I wasn’t so afraid.

Werner Herzog gets shot is the strange tale of German film producer Werner Herzog… getting shot. Aureate! starts of with a harpsichord, before being interrupted by break beats, leading the way for the orchestra to take over. Angry young man delivers all it promises, before the album finishes of with We are the Roman Empire, an eulogy for so-called western civilisation. Top ten of the year? Elementary, my dear Watson.